


The Boy in Blue

by Hoodoo



Series: The Long Arm of the Law [2]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Awkward, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Sweet/Hot, surprise visit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 06:08:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13265319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoodoo/pseuds/Hoodoo
Summary: You haven't quite stopped thinking about Cop Rick, and he certainly hasn't stopped thinking about you.





	1. Chapter 1

You know the sound of a portal. And you just heard one, but you can’t find it.

Rick had told you to be ready tonight and you’d been waiting for him. But the hours passed and it was looking like—typical, the asshole!—he stood you up again. Then came the unmistakable pulling sound and you looked around expectantly, but no swirling oval of greens and yellows erupted in the room. There was no evidence of one in any of the rooms of your flat—not large, by any means, just the living/dining/kitchen area, your bedroom, and bathroom.

After completing a circuit of your small living space you stood in the middle of the living area, perplexed.

There was a knock on your door.

What the—?

You went to it, made sure the chain is still attached, and cautiously opened it to peer out.

Rick was there. Cop Rick. The one from the city your Rick abandoned you at. He’s out of uniform, but you recognize him.

What the—?

He smiled, ran a hand over the back of his neck, and said, 

“H-hey. You, uh . . . you forgot your toothbrush.”


	2. Chapter 2

It took you a few excruciatingly long seconds to fumble the chain lock open. You’re shaking. Why are you shaking?

Finally you’re able to open the door and stand there, dumbfounded. “Officer Sanchez! Hi!”

“Hi,” he replied. “Is this an okay time? Can-can I come in?”

“What? Oh, yes! Please! Come in!”

You stood back so he can enter. You wish you hadn’t been lazy today. You should have straightened the place up! There are books scattered everywhere and dirty dishes on the end table—holy crap, you left a trail of dirty laundry from your bathroom to your bedroom when you disrobed to go to bed last night! Normally you wouldn’t care, because Rick—the Rick you knew best, from your dimension—doesn’t care either, but now, with Officer Sanchez here, unannounced and unexpectedly, you’re embarrassed.

Or maybe you’re blushing and feel hot because he is standing so close . . .

You said, “I didn’t expect you to show up—“

And he said, “I’m sorry to drop in like this—“

—at the same time.

It made you both stop, and apologize, and try again. It repeated. Then you’re laughing, and he looked amused. After a moment, giving you the opportunity to speak that you don’t take, Rick said, 

“I didn’t mean to just show up, but . . . well, here I am, I guess. You gave me your address and dimension, remember?”

He asked like maybe you didn’t remember, or maybe you did it out of some weird social obligation and you never expected him to actually show up where you live. 

“No, I remember!” you reassured him, putting a hand on his arm. “I’m glad you did! It’s nice to see you again!”

“You look so nice. Like you’re ready to go out. I didn’t mean to wreck your evening, I just wanted to drop off your toothbrush . . .” his voice trailed off.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you told him. 

You had dressed a little more nicely than normal: a short skirt and button down blouse, plus the garter belt and stockings because they made you feel daring. And you’d put on some makeup; occasionally Rick had scoffed at the amount of time you took to apply it, but you liked upswept winged eye liner and darker lipstick. But your Rick wasn’t here, the asshole, so you were glad to have someone appreciate the effort. 

“Come on, Officer. Sit down.”

Awkwardly he handed you the toothbrush you’d left at his place. You took it to your bathroom, kicking at your dirty clothes in what you hope is an inconspicuous way as you called over your shoulder, 

“Seriously! Just sit anywhere! Give me one second—“

In the bathroom, out of his sight, you do a quick once-over in the mirror. No lipstick on your teeth, check. Hair okay? Check. You dug into the front of your shirt, grabbed your boobs, and adjusted them so there’s more cleavage. You also readjust your thong so it’s less uncomfortable, then go back to where he is.

Rick hadn’t sat down. He’s examining the photos you have tacked to your walls, mostly cheap prints of sunrises and canyons. He turned back to you as you enter. 

“Would you like something to drink?” you asked. “I have vodka and gin and I think there’s some red wine . . .”

“I’m not on duty, so . . . a vodka and soda would be nice.”

Vodka and soda. Typically you’d just set the bottle of pure alcohol in front of your Rick. This guy was fancy.

“Officer, I have to insist! Sit down!”

“Don’t call me Officer,” he replied. “Just Rick is fine.”

You waved him off and agreed. He finally took a seat on your couch while you bustled and poured out two drinks. Carrying them back to him, you sipped from yours as you handed his over, then sat down next to him, curling one leg under you. Your skirt rode up as you do, but you don’t rearrange it.

“So . . . how are things on the . . .” You searched for the word. “. . . Citadel?” There. That was a strong opening gambit.

Cop Rick told you a little about his job, which lead to a more in-depth explanation of what the Citadel is—your Rick refused to elaborate, even after stranding you there, blowing off your questions in annoyance. Rick, in turn, asked about you and your employment, and you told him some not-quite-superficial, not-quite intimate details about yourself.

Most times you hate small talk, but you’re genuinely interested in what he has to say. He’s attentive to you too. It’s comfortable and he’s easy to talk to. Most of the way through your third vodka and soda—he’s on his second—you asked him how he got here. Didn’t he say he didn’t have a portal gun?

Rick nodded in agreement. “You’re right. I got a temporary permit for . . . well, for seeing you.”

“That’s so nice!” you gushed, and draped your leg over his lap. “If I’d known you were planning on coming over, I would have made dinner. I would have fancied myself up for you!”

You were only a _little_ tipsy, you told yourself.

He chuckled. You watched over the top of your glass as he started to put a hand on your knee, hesitated, then committed to the movement. His palm was warm. You took another swallow of your drink.

“You look v-v-very n-nice,” he told you. “I don’t think you’d n-need to get fancier for me.”

“Mmm, you’re sweet. The only other time you saw me I was wearing shabby shorts and a see-through tee-shirt—“

“It wasn’t quite see-through,” he interrupted in a mumble, and you gave him a smile.

“—like I said, you’re sweet. Did you like that better? Is this too much for you? Some guys don’t like a lot of make up or girly clothing, they like more natural and comfortable stuff. You know? What do you prefer?” 

Oh lordy lou, were you babbling? The butterflies in your stomach had left; what was this, now? 

You stretched your leg out a little, pointing your toes. The movement hiked your skirt a little bit more, and the top of the stockings on that leg was visible now. Very coquettishly, you lifted the hem of your skirt just a smidge more, to showcase your garter straps.

“Is what I’m wearing now okay? Or is it too complicated, Rick?”

Who _were_ you?

You watched his throat contract as he swallows. You also don’t miss his eyes tracking the movement of your fingers as they played with the edge of your skirt. Daring to take it a little further, you traced the lace of the stocking with a finger.

“It’s . . . it’s not t-too complicated,” he answered, after licking his lips like they’re dry. “I-I think . . .”

He pulled his gaze away from your thigh and looked you in the eye.

“You’re very pretty,” he said, with no stutter. 

“Thank you!” You’re sincere in the appreciation; your Rick doesn’t say things like that to you. You sat up a little, leaning your torso towards him. You took his mostly empty glass and set it, with yours, on the coffee table.

“I hope you don’t think-I hope I wasn’t too forward, just showing up,” he continued.

“I don’t,” you told him, moving even closer to him.

“It’s rude, I s-should have contacted you,” he insisted on saying. He licked his lips again.

“I’m glad you’re here.” You tilted your head a little.

“I j-just, I couldn’t stop thinking about, about you—“

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you either.”

“—is this okay? Are you sure? I don’t want to do anything you don’t want—“

You silenced him with a kiss. This seemed to be a developing theme between you two.

All his hesitation melted away, though, when your tongue searched for his. He’s still gentle but there’s an underlying current of need and desire. He pushed against you, and his hand, the one on your knee, slipped smoothly up your stocking-clad leg, to the lace top. He dug his fingers a little under the edge of the elastic.

You hold him by his neck and jaw and fell back as you kiss him, pulling him down with you between your legs. You half expected him to resist, but he let you manipulate him. His hand goes further up your skirt and encounters your panties. He gave them a little snap, and it made you jump, and giggle.

He smiled too, through another kiss. You shift a little, under him, and wrap your legs over the backs of his thighs.

“You’re sure . . .?” he can’t seem to help repeat.

Obviously you’re going to have to be direct with him. You pulled back a bit and looked at him directly.

When he’s truly paying attention, you told him seriously, “Rick Sanchez, I want you to fuck me.”

A breath hitched in his throat and a blush crept over his cheeks. He searched your face one last time as if to verify you’re not lying, joking, or somehow under a spell that makes you say only the opposite of what you want. Finding none of those, a new grin lifted one side of his mouth. With a laugh that sounds like pure joy, he kissed you again and again.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂ ⁂ ⁂

Your first night together—truly together, intimately together—was giggly and not too serious, which helped smooth over typical first-time-doing-this awkwardness. Rick uncovered a highly guarded secret—you were ticklish when the right amount of breath was whispered into your ear—and you discovered he used the word fuck as an encouragement and praise as you went down on him.

He fumbled a bit with the straps and closures of your undergarments, like he’d never quite dealt with something like that. In return you didn’t say anything about never having been with an uncircumcised man before, or that you weren’t quite sure if there was something you should do differently because of it.

You just did what you knew, and it worked out fine. Rick’s hands became adept quickly and found just the right spots to caress and pinch and stroke, and he never hesitated to kiss you anywhere. 

His body is mostly familiar to you—lean, each spinal process evident—but he’s more toned than you expected, and in between licking and kissing, your fingers found something unique. They tracked the map of the scar on his shoulder that you’d previously felt under his shirt, but had never seen.

At the end the exploration and foreplay culminated in him asking if you had a condom. He fretted he wasn’t prepared, and confessed he hadn’t actually expected it to go this far . . . you kissed him soundly, told him you were on birth control and were disease free. He admitted he was too, that the clinics on the Citadel were pretty forward about making sure every Rick didn’t carry anything—you kissed him again to shut him up. 

You told him any position he wanted would be fine with you. You were happy to let him be behind you, if that’s what would be best for him. In your experience, guys liked the position. 

But Rick told you no, he’d rather be able to see your face, and he guided you back on the bed before settling between your legs. Although he kept his eyes closed at his first push into you, he opened them to watch you like he said, finding your mouth occasionally while you moaned during each thrust. 

He was slow and deliberate and occasionally paused deep inside you with a closed-eyed look of concentration on his face so he didn’t come too quickly.

You tilted your hips and reached behind you head to steady yourself by holding the headboard. Rick didn’t alter his pace, but the slight shifting of your position tipped him just enough to make pleasure spark through you even more. You locked your legs tightly around his waist and tensed in your core as you orgasmed.

He gave you a moment; you were able to see his softer, satisfied smile through half-closed eyes, then you urged him to continue.

It wasn’t much longer or much more movement before his pleasure peaked too. Buried deep in you, he came with a groan. He shuddered and gasped and stayed immobile for a long moment, still inside you, while you pressed kisses to the side of his head and scratched long lines lightly over his shoulders.

Finally he groaned again and eased himself back away from you, and sank down beside you on the bed.

You sat up and rummaged a moment to pull the sheets and blanket up over the two of you, which you hoped signaled to Rick that you expected him to spend the night. Then you cuddled into his side.

You whispered, “Thanks.”

He picked up his head.

“You may not thank me in the morning.”

The blunt statement startled you. 

His continued grim tone was worrisome. “I s-sleep in the middle of the bed, all sprawled out. You’re not going to get any-any of the blankets, and you’re going to wake up cold and cramped from the awkward position. 

“Just so you know,” he finished with an indifferent shrug.

You tried to match his level of seriousness, but couldn’t. 

“So you don’t think I can hold my own, even while sleeping?” you demanded. Your voice broke as you struggled not to giggle at the end.

Rick gazed at you solemnly for another moment, as if disapproving of your reluctance to take this matter seriously, then broke into a grin himself.

“I’d expect nothing less!” he admitted, and draped himself over you to kiss you again.

It took a bit of time for you both to settle, stop laughing, and drift into sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

You made a point of thanking him again the next morning. Rick snorted and rolled on top of you, which dissolved into an under the blankets wrestling match that you didn’t fight too hard to win. You did anyway. Rick, pinned under you, relaxed with his hands tucked under his head, looked smug.

You could only roll your eyes and nipped at his chest—no one looked smug fending off a bite! Rick then asked if he could take a shower.

You told him of course he could, then gallantly offered to join him.

He didn’t decline.

Under the spray of water, soap-slick and warm, the only comfortable position in the stall was for Rick to be behind you. Although you didn’t come this time, you were more than satisfied that he did. Between gasps to catch his breath, he promised to make it up to you.

You kissed him and told him you’d hold him to it.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂ ⁂ ⁂

Breakfast wasn’t much: orange juice and pancakes from a boxed mix. 

He didn’t seem to be able to stop touching you: brushing your hair out of your face, putting a hand on your shoulder, running his fingers over the top of your hand.

Once again, the conversation was comfortable. You asked about his family and grandson; he told you didn’t have one, but that he had had Morty partner for a while, then . . . he left it at that and you were able to infer he didn’t have the same background as other Ricks. It was getting easier to comprehend the idea of infinite dimensions.

Finally, though, he glanced at the clock on your stove and his face fell. Quietly, he told you he was going to have to go.

“It’s-it’s the temporary permit,” he said apologetically. “I voluntarily gave up my—handed in my portal gun when I became a Citadel citizen, and when they first reissue a new one, it’s only good for f-fifteen hours. To make sure you’re coming back. The price of citizenship, I guess.”

“What if I hadn’t been here? What would you have done?” you asked.

Rick shrugged. “A couple of Ricks at the station told me about a bar that’s supposed to be Rick-friendly. I might’ve tried it. Or maybe I would have just-just stayed outside your door, till you came back.”

He stood up, and you copy him. He offered you a hand, which you took, so he could pull you closer. He kissed you, long and slow and sweet. Your heart felt like it was going to beat right out of your chest.

When it’s done, you looked up at him and said, “Thanks for bringing back my toothbrush.” 

“You’re welcome.”

“And you don’t have to leave anything here as an excuse to come back,” you added coyly.

That blush inched up his face again. You liked it; it was cute. He nodded.

With another quick kiss, he reluctantly stepped away, then found his portal gun, conjured the swirling mass of color in your wall, and walked through. You waved a little to him as he disappeared.

Standing in your now silent flat, you’re happy “your Rick” stood you up last night.

Then it occurred to you that maybe you should rethink who “your Rick” was.

_fin._


End file.
